


Milk Run

by enigmaticblue



Series: A Series of Unfortunate Events [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bruce Banner & Tony Stark Friendship, Clint Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 08:44:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/951073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigmaticblue/pseuds/enigmaticblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“‘It’s a milk run,’ he said,” Clint mutters, biting back a groan. “‘Piece of cake,’ he said. I should have figured there was no such thing when it comes to the Hulk.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Milk Run

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the hc_bingo prompt, "accidents."

Clint stares at the file in front of him. “With all due respect, sir, why me?”

 

“Two reasons,” Fury growls. “One, because I told you to, which should be enough.”

 

Clint slumps in his chair. “Yessir.”

 

“And the second, because you have yet to clear your psych eval, and you’re going crazy with the inactivity,” Fury continues. “It’s a milk run to get you back in the field. All you have to do is escort Dr. Banner to the Hydra base, make sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble while he’s poking around, and then get him back home again. Piece of cake.”

 

Clint has the horrible feeling that Fury has just jinxed him. He wishes Coulson were giving him this assignment, because Coulson would at least put up with his questions. “I’m happy to do this, sir, but I have to ask—why Banner and not Stark? Or both of them?”

 

Clint is pretty sure that Fury would be happy to send Tony in on his own, but for some reason, no one likes to send Bruce anywhere without supervision—or possibly someone to track him down and provide emergency pants. But normally, that would be Tony.

 

“Mr. Stark is attending the opening of his new building in Dallas,” Fury replies, apparently not minding _that_ question. “His absence would be conspicuous.”

 

Clint has been around Tony and Pepper often enough to know that actually translates, “Pepper would raise hell if anything but the end of the world prevented Tony from being there.” It’s an open secret that Pepper knows about SHIELD, and no one is willing to cross her without a good reason. A _really_ good reason.

 

Clint isn’t too surprised that she and Natasha get along really well.

 

“When do we leave, sir?” Clint asks.

 

Fury shrugs. “See travel for that. They’ve made the arrangements.”

 

There are a lot of things that are bugging Clint about this assignment. Not only has Fury jinxed them, but also Clint is about to visit an abandoned Hydra base with a guy who could turn green and smash him.

 

At least they _know_ the base has been abandoned, because all the agents in charge are currently in SHIELD custody.

 

But aside from those things, Clint knows that his head isn’t quite straight yet, and that the shrinks are right; he hasn’t recovered from Loki’s mind-fuck, and he’s beginning to wonder if he ever will. If something does go wrong, Clint’s not sure he’ll be able to handle it.

 

Orders are orders, though, and Clint has pushed through the pain often enough to know that being out in the field again might give him a nudge in the right direction. He definitely doesn’t want to be riding a desk forever.

 

So, he picks up the itinerary from the travel department, ignoring the sideways looks he gets from the other SHIELD agents, and puts his kit together. He hasn’t needed much of one over the last few months, but he decides to be thorough and prep for the worst.

 

Clint isn’t cleared for flying yet—they might have let him fly the Quinjet to Manhattan during the Chitauri invasion, but that was only because there had been no one else—which means they’re catching a military transport from Fort Hamilton to Colorado Springs, and from there will make the drive to the base in the Rocky Mountains.

 

Clint is already at the airport when Bruce arrives with his duffel in hand, accompanied by an airman, and looking intensely uncomfortable.

 

“Great,” Clint mutters when he spots Bruce. He has no idea who had set up their travel arrangements, but anybody who has any familiarity with Bruce knows that he has some understandable reservations about the military.

 

Or, to put it another way, a military presence freaks Bruce right the fuck out. It’s not an auspicious start to their trip.

 

But when Bruce spots Clint, he appears to relax fractionally. “Hey, Clint.”

 

“What’s up, doc?” Clint asks.

 

Bruce glances at the plane. “Looks like we will be soon. When Fury asked me to do this, I figured you’d be flying.”

 

Clint hears the unspoken comment that Bruce might not have agreed to go if he’d known he’d be flying on a military plane. “I’m not cleared to fly yet,” he admits.

 

Bruce frowns. “You flew the Quinjet to Manhattan.”

 

“It’s a little different when there’s nobody else around to do it,” Clint replies. “You okay with this?”

 

Bruce takes a deep breath and runs his free hand through his hair. “Yeah, I guess so. You’re going to be with me, right?”

 

“No worries, doc. I’ve got your back,” Clint assures him.

 

Maybe if he focuses on keeping Bruce on an even keel, he can get through this mission with a minimum of fuss.

 

~~~~~

 

Bruce seems to be spending the flight time meditating, although given how tightly clenched his fists are on the legs of his khakis, he hasn’t been very successful at relaxing.

 

Then again, he’s not green, so he’s probably doing just fine—for a certain value of the word.

 

Clint tries to nap, but every time he closes his eyes he remembers being in a plane a lot like this one when he’d attacked the helicarrier. So, he keeps his eyes open and tries to focus on the task at hand.

 

He knows why SHIELD is sending Banner, rather than one of the scientists on their payroll; the base had been a center for Hydra’s R&D, making weapons and other nasty gadgets. If something blows up in their faces, the chances of anything permanently damaging Bruce is slim to none, and this way, they don’t lose a scientist.

 

Clint wonders if it’s his imagination or if Fury is sending him along with Bruce because as fucked up as Clint is right now, it’s no great loss if something happens to him also.

 

And yes, Clint is well aware that he’s being melodramatic, because whatever Fury’s faults, he doesn’t leave a man behind if he can help it.

 

Sue him, but Clint’s been indulging in a pity party recently.

 

Their flight lands at Peterson AFB, and Clint’s close enough to hear Bruce’s sigh of relief as they exit the transport. There’s a Jeep waiting for them, and Clint takes the keys from a young airman who asks, “Are you sure you don’t need an escort, sir?”

 

The kid can’t be more than 20, and he’s looking from Clint to Bruce and back again with ill-disguised hero worship. He’s too much of a professional to do more than make the offer, but Clint is pretty sure that’s the only thing preventing the kid from asking for an autograph.

 

“I’m sure, but thank you, Airman,” Clint says. “We’ll take it from here.”

 

Bruce throws his duffel into the back and climbs into the passenger seat. “At least he wasn’t too obvious about it,” Clint mutters as he does the same, climbing behind the wheel.

 

“You get that a lot?” Bruce asks.

 

Clint shakes his head. “To get that a lot I’d have to be going out a lot, which I have definitely not been doing.”

 

Bruce winces. “Yeah, you and me both.”

 

“I didn’t think your identity was widely known,” Clint objects.

 

Bruce hitches a shoulder. “Granted, it’s the Other Guy’s face on the news most of the time, but yeah. There’s been a lot of press with the Avengers, and someone got a picture of me. The people who are paying attention recognize me.”

 

Clint doesn’t say that it would _have_ to be someone who’s paying attention, because Bruce tends to blend in. With his rumpled clothing and hesitant demeanor, Bruce looks like the very picture of an absentminded professor, and definitely the sort of person who doesn’t warrant a second look.

 

“Has Fury asked you for lessons on blending in?” Clint asks.

 

Bruce winces. “Yeah, those are the kind of lessons that can’t be taught in school.”

 

Clint wonders if they’d learned those lessons for the same reasons. He hasn’t done much research into his teammates, beyond what’s common knowledge.

 

Then again, they’re not really much of a team yet.

 

Clint decides a change of subject is in order. “How much did Fury tell you about this mission?”

 

“Abandoned Hydra base, possibly dangerous weaponry, needs a scientist to ensure that everything is inert and not going to blow up in our faces,” Bruce reels off. “Even better, Fury can send a scientist who’s virtually indestructible. Bonus if the same scientist is a thorn in SHIELD’s side, and if something _does_ happen to kill him, no problem.”

 

Clint blinks, a little surprised to hear his own thoughts come out of Bruce’s mouth. “Fury doesn’t want you dead.”

 

“Maybe not, but he wouldn’t mind if I were,” Bruce replies. “And I know the difference.”

 

Clint can’t argue, if only because he’d thought the same thing just hours before. “Accidents happen, huh?”

 

He’s not sure what Bruce can read in his voice and expression, but he suspects that Bruce is as good at reading people as he is, because Bruce says, “I can get us both out of there, by the way.”

 

Clint shrugs. “I’m just here as the driver. Fury said this was a milk run.”

 

Bruce winces. “If he jinxed us, I’m going to have words with him.”

 

Clint grins. “I’d like to see that.”

 

“Funny thing about having a green alter ego,” Bruce says mildly. “People generally try not to piss me off.”

 

“Do me a favor, and tell Fury that while I’m in the same room,” Clint begs.

 

Bruce laughs. “I think I can promise that much.”

 

The nice thing about Bruce is that he doesn’t feel the need to fill the silence, instead staring out the window at the passing scenery. Clint has to admit that a national forest is a good place to hide a secret bad guy base, since they’ll mostly just have to contend with the occasional hiker or group of campers stumbling into the area.

 

As far as SHIELD has been able to tell, the Hydra base has been there for decades, probably since before the Vietnam War, although Clint has to wonder how they managed to get the materials into the mountains to build it.

 

They’re a couple of miles away, rounding a switchback, when Clint hears a distant pop, and he feels the Jeep begin to spin out of control.

 

Clint swears and turns into the spin toward the side of the mountain and not the other way, trying to stay in control. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Bruce clutching the door, his eyes screwed shut. He can hear the ping of bullets hitting the Jeep, and the windshield shatters. Clint feels a sharp pain in his left arm, and he sees a red splotch on Bruce’s chest.

 

“Oh, fuck,” Clint says, seeing Bruce’s skin begin to turn green. Having the Hulk’s weight in the passenger seat throws Clint off, and he completely loses control of the vehicle.

 

And the whole world goes dark.

 

~~~~~

 

Clint’s hanging upside down from his seatbelt when he comes to, his head spinning. He reaches for the buckle and hears Bruce say, “Just sit tight, okay?”

 

“Bruce?” Clint calls. “You okay?”

 

“I’m fine, I just need some clothes and shoes if I’m going to get you out,” Bruce explains. “The glass is making things—difficult.”

 

Clint breathes shallowly, taking stock of his injuries. Aside from the hole in his arm, his chest and neck hurt like a son of a bitch, and he’s pretty sure he has a couple of cracked ribs on his right side, plus a concussion.

 

But he can wiggle his fingers and his toes, which is something.

 

“‘It’s a milk run,’ he said,” Clint mutters, biting back a groan. “‘Piece of cake,’ he said. I should have figured there was no such thing when it comes to the Hulk.”

 

The world is still fuzzy when Bruce appears on the driver’s side. “Where’s your knife?”

 

“Left side, or you can try my boot if you can reach it,” Clint replies, blinking to try and clear his vision. There’s still two of him.

 

Bruce pulls the door open with a hard yank, his foot braced against the door. Clint realizes that he’s wearing one of Clint’s shirts and his spare boots. “Sorry about raiding your bag,” Bruce says conversationally. “I couldn’t find mine, and I need to get you out of here. Can you move your fingers and toes for me?”

 

Clint does as he’s asked, and Bruce sighs. “Well, that’s a bit of good news at least. Hang on.”

 

He finds the knife in the sheath on Clint’s belt and braces Clint’s body with one arm before slicing the seatbelt. He takes Clint’s weight with a grunt and slides them both free of the car, dragging Clint behind the Jeep to make it harder for anybody to shoot them.

 

“Hang on,” Bruce advises, and moves around to the exposed side of the Jeep.

 

“Doc, that’s not safe,” Clint calls.

 

“Safer for me than it is for you,” Bruce replies. “The Other Guy bought us some time. No one wants to stick around when he shows up to the party.”

 

Bruce returns a few minutes later with both of their bags and a field kit. He rips Clint’s sleeve with a quick yank and begins to rummage around in the kit.

 

“So, how many bullet wounds have you treated?” Clint asks.

 

“This would be my first,” Bruce admits. “Lucky for you, I’ve been taking lessons. I figure I might as well be some use to the team.”

 

Clint frowns. “What are you talking about?”

 

“I’m not much use unless you need the Other Guy,” Bruce replies self-deprecatingly.

 

“Or your brain,” Clint argues. “Which is why you’re here now.”

 

Bruce begins to clean out the wound, making Clint hiss. “Sorry,” Bruce says quietly. “And Fury would have sent Tony if he hadn’t had that thing. At least you wouldn’t have had to worry about him overturning the Jeep or injuring you further.”

 

“That was you?” Clint asks, wincing at both the insensitivity of the words and the pain in his arm as Bruce applies a pressure bandage.

 

“Think so,” Bruce replies as he ties it off. “I don’t think the Jeep would have been upside down otherwise. If it makes you feel any better, the Other Guy wouldn’t have hurt you on purpose.”

 

Clint grits his teeth as Bruce checks his ribs. “You think the Other Guy likes me as much as he likes Tony?”

 

“Doubtful,” Bruce replies, although he manages a smile. “I think you might have gotten elbowed in the ribs,” he says when he sees the bruises forming on Clint’s side.

 

“But hey! We’re not being shot at anymore,” Clint replies, deciding to point out the bright side. “Have you called it in?”

 

Bruce shakes his head. “The radio in the Jeep is broken, and you know how hard the Other Guy is on technology.”

 

Clint winces. “Bottom of my bag, sewn into the lining. There’s an emergency beacon.”

 

Bruce finishes wrapping Clint’s ribs, and then he uses Clint’s knife to open up the bottom of the bag. “Red button,” Clint says when Bruce pulls out the small device.

 

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “Could the people shooting at us track us with this?”

 

“Intermittent signal,” Clint replies. “They might, but it’s not like they don’t know where we are already, right?”

 

“Fair,” Bruce admits and presses the button. “Nausea? Double vision?”

 

“Both,” Clint replies. “It’s definitely a concussion.”

 

“Fantastic,” Bruce mutters. “Okay, I think we should get under cover, but to do that we have to go downhill.”

 

Clint nods. “We have to move fast, and I need you to grab my bow.”

 

Bruce frowns. “You’re not going to be able to draw it between your ribs and arm.”

 

Clint doesn’t want to leave his bow behind for Hydra, but asking Bruce to go back for it means putting him in more danger, and Clint knows better. He has his sidearm, which is a better bet than his bow with his injuries. “You’re right. We’ll leave it.”

 

“I need you to let me cover you,” Bruce replies. “I can take a bullet better than you can.”

 

It goes against every instinct Clint has—he’s supposed to be protecting Bruce, not the other way around—but he doesn’t have a choice. He’s not going to be able to move very quickly under his own steam.

 

“Okay,” Clint agrees. “At least until the cavalry shows up.”

 

Bruce glances at their bags, and he stuffs the first aid kit into Clint’s. “We might need that, but we can probably ditch my stuff.”

 

“I can carry your bag,” Clint offers. “Mine is heavier, and with these ribs—”

 

“And that arm,” Bruce adds. “Leave it. Everything in there can be replaced even if we can’t retrieve it.”

 

Clint nods. “Okay, let’s go.”

 

Bruce sticks his head out, one hand on Clint’s shoulder, holding him back. When no one shoots at him, he grips the back of Clint’s shirt, and drags him out from behind the Jeep, Clint’s bag in his other hand.

 

Clint spares a moment to be impressed by Bruce’s strength, and then they’re at the guardrail. There’s a steep drop on the other side, but Bruce shields Clint while he climbs over slowly, and then Bruce drops the bag on the other side and vaults over.

 

He’s grateful for Bruce’s support as they pick their way slowly down the steep hill, finding a couple of boulders that will provide excellent shelter.  Bruce gets him settled and then looks around. “What do you think? Can we risk a fire?”

 

“Better not,” Clint replies, although the sun is beginning to set, and the temperature is dropping.

 

Bruce pulls out the kit and finds the emergency blanket. “Well, we can huddle together for warmth. It’s the least I can do.”

 

“Seriously, doc, this is _not_ your fault,” Clint insists. “Not unless you paid someone to shoot at me, and then, yeah, kinda your fault.”

 

Bruce makes a sound that might almost be a laugh. “If someone else had been here with you, you might just have a bullet hole in your arm.”

 

“If someone else had been with me, I might have a bullet through my brain, and you probably would, too,” Clint replies. “I saw you get shot, Bruce. In the chest. Anybody else would be dead.”

 

“Yeah, that’s what people keep telling me,” Bruce replies wearily. “How long do you think SHIELD will take?”

 

Clint wants to shrug, but he remembers just in time that it’s not a good idea. “No idea. A few hours, anyway, and they’ll probably have to wait until morning to come get us.”

 

“The good news is that Hydra will have a hard time finding us in the dark, if that’s who was shooting at us,” Bruce replies.

 

The emergency blanket does a good job trapping their body heat, and Clint’s about as comfortable as he’s going to get when he hurts all over.

 

Then again, his head feels clear for the first time since Loki got his hooks in him, the pain letting him know that he’s free. When he’d been under Loki’s spell, Clint had been feeling no pain, no exhaustion, no doubt.

 

And right now, he’s feeling all three. Awesome.

 

“Talk to me,” Clint says in a low voice. “I’m not supposed to fall asleep, right?”

 

“Probably not a good idea,” Bruce agrees. “What do you want to know?”

 

Clint’s stomach growls. “Best food you’ve ever had.”

 

Bruce snorts. “You’re a masochist. Tell me you have food in your bag.”

 

“Protein bars, outside pocket,” Clint replies. “You hungry, too?”

 

“Always am after a transformation,” Bruce admits, grabbing a handful of protein bars and handing Clint one. “And to answer your question, there was this little place in Rio that had the best _feijoada_ I’ve ever eaten. You?”

 

Clint speaks through a full mouth. “Italy—Milan, actually. I have no idea what it was called, but they made their own pasta with this spicy sauce.”

 

“Were you there on a mission?” Bruce asks.

 

Clint’s mission is still classified, but Bruce isn’t asking for details. “Yeah. I had a couple of days after it was over to take in the sights.”

 

“It wasn’t your fault either,” Bruce says suddenly.

 

Clint blinks. “What?”

 

“The thing with Loki. It wasn’t your fault.”

 

Clint can’t read Bruce’s expression in the fading light, not with the concussion. “No, I just caused the deaths of dozens of people. That wasn’t my fault at all.”

 

“Okay, it’s definitely your fault,” Bruce agrees.

Clint gives him a sharp look, and his head pounds. “Ow.”

 

“You okay?”

 

“Headache,” Clint replies.

 

“You aren’t just saying that to get out of hearing the very inspiring pep talk I was planning to give, are you?” Bruce asks with wry humor.

 

Clint laughs. “I hate to break it to you, doc, but it’s probably not quite as inspiring as the one that Natasha or Coulson gave me.”

 

“Let me guess, Natasha beat you up, and Coulson told you to get over yourself,” Bruce says.

 

“Something like that,” Clint admits, leaning a little closer to Bruce. He’s starting to shiver now, and Bruce wraps an arm around his shoulders, his body putting off heat like a furnace. “I think Fury put me on this mission because he doesn’t know what else to do with me.”

 

There’s a long pause, and Clint figures that Bruce doesn’t know what to say to that, and is trying to find a nice way to respond—because Bruce is definitely a nice guy.

 

And then Bruce says, “Actually, I asked for you to come.”

 

Clint frowns, and then winces when even that hurts. “What?”

 

“It’s no accident that you’re here because I asked for you to come,” Bruce repeats. “No offense, I probably would have asked for Tony, but I knew he was going to be busy.”

 

Clint isn’t offended by that, because saying that Bruce would rather have Tony with him is a little like saying that Clint would prefer to go on a mission with Natasha. It’s no secret that Fury has started calling Bruce and Tony the “Wonder Twins.”

 

“Why me?” Clint finally asks, because that seems to be the only question left to him.

 

“Because I figured if something went wrong, and the Other Guy showed up, you’d be the best at dealing with it,” Bruce admits. “He still scares Natasha, with good reason, and Steve has a complicated history with Hydra. I figured you’d be the least likely to run.” He sighs. “Of course, I had no idea we’d get shot at, and you’d wind up _unable_ to run.”

 

“I wouldn’t have run,” Clint admits. “I like the Hulk.”

 

“You and Tony,” Bruce says affectionately. “Anyway, you’re here because I asked for you, so it really is my fault you got hurt.”

 

“You know I failed my psych evals,” Clint replies.

 

Bruce tightens his grip on Clint. “Fury mentioned it. For the record, Tony failed his evaluation, too, and yet he’s widely regarded as the cornerstone of the team. Go figure.”

 

Clint takes a deep breath. “Thanks.”

 

“Look, you’re part of the team,” Bruce continues. “And all of us are a little fucked up. I suspect that if the team got called up, your psych eval wouldn’t be worth shit.”

 

“Probably,” Clint replies, knowing that if push comes to shove, Fury will put him out in the field. In fact, he wishes something _would_ happen, to get him over the hump.

 

“Maybe if you believe that it’s not your fault, that Loki forced you into it, you’ll be able to pass,” Bruce says quietly.

 

Clint closes his eyes tightly. “Maybe so.”

 

“Easier said than done, I know,” Bruce says quietly.

 

Clint stiffens as he hears a noise. “You hear that?”

 

“Tony,” Bruce murmurs, and Clint can hear the smile in his voice. “I’d know that sound anywhere.”

 

Sure enough, a couple of minutes later, Iron Man is touching down in front of them. “I hear you boys are in some trouble.”

 

“I thought you were supposed to be in Dallas,” Bruce replies.

 

Tony shrugs and flips up his faceplate. “I was in Dallas, but when I got the word, I decided I’d come find you. It doesn’t look like there are any more Hydra agents in the area. We found the two that the Other Guy smashed.”

 

“We’re going to need a med evac for Clint,” Bruce replies.

 

“I’m fine,” Clint protests.

 

“Uh huh,” Tony says, patently disbelieving. “Lucky for both of you, I thought ahead, and there are agents on the way. I’m just here to make sure nothing happens to you in the meantime.”

 

Clint knows that Tony had probably come for Bruce, not him, but it still feels good to have people who want him around, and don’t look at him in fear.

 

He’s a little surprised when Tony sits down across from them, looking a little incongruous in his armor. “How about a fire?”

 

“That might not be safe,” Bruce objects.

 

“You’ve got me,” Tony replies expansively. “And a bunch of SHIELD agents on the way, which, if you ask me, they should have sent in the first place. And don’t think I’m not going to tell Fury that.”

 

“I’d like to be a fly on that wall, too,” Clint murmurs.

 

Bruce squeezes the back of Clint’s neck. “Don’t go to sleep.”

 

“Not going to sleep,” Clint protests. “I’m just saying that between you telling Fury that he jinxed us, and Tony reading him the riot act over not sending more agents, I want to be there.”

 

“If I can make it happen, I will,” Tony promises. “You _are_ a member of the team, after all.”

 

Clint has always known that he had Natasha and Coulson, but it’s the first time since Loki that he’s realized what it means to be part of the Avengers. If he can’t be part of SHIELD anymore, if he can’t pass his fucking psych eval, at least he has this.

 

“Bruce here is a first rate field medic,” Clint says as payback of a sort. “And a good man to have around.”

 

“So he is,” Tony replies.

 

And Clint figures that as sore as he is, it’s not a bad thing. At least he knows where he stands, and that’s more than he’s had in months.


End file.
